Have A Nice Day
by annoyingbells
Summary: Moriarty's office was not what Sebastian Moran had been expecting. Inspired by kink meme and tv trope Yellow "Have a Nice Day" Smiley Pre-Cannon. hinted future Mormor. Slightly Cracky. Dark. Rated for naughty words and violence.


Moriarty's office was not what Sebastian Moran had been expecting.

When he'd returned from a freelance job in Budapest to find a package on his bedside table containing the severed right hand of the officer who'd initiated his dishonorable discharge (identifiable by a very distinctive, jagged scar across the palm that Sebastian had put there himself), and a note with the words: "Consider this a gift for future services rendered. Or preview of your future if you run," he'd imagined the usual spiel. Three to five body-building lackeys would arrive within the hour and politely "suggest" that he accompany them to some unknown location. He'd be blindfolded, shoved in the boot of a car, and whisked off to an abandoned warehouse, where some self-important mob boss would try to coerce him with vague threats and lofty promises of drugs, women and money in exchange for his loyalty and services. And then Sebastian would have to kill the smug fucker's goons and cut off his hand and feed it to him, and politely "suggest" that he and his two-bit crime-ring never so much as breathe in Sebastian's general direction again.

Sebastian had sighed, tiredly. As fun as that normally would have been, he was weary from his flight from Hungary and all he really wanted tonight was to spend an evening in with some take-away, cleaning his gun and watching Ms Marple.

Resignedly, he flopped down on the sofa, pulled out his favorite handgun (better than his rifle for close range - the idiots would insist he arrive unarmed to this "friendly meeting" anyway, so it was really more for show) and waited.

And waited.

By 7AM Sebastian was stiff from sitting watching the door all night and irritated from lack of sleep. Of course he could easily stay awake for days - military life and his current occupation had conditioned him to function for up to 96 hours without sleep - but that didn't exactly make staying up all night unnecessarily, after a week of bounding across rooftops in Heroes' Square, a fucking treat.

The ringing of his phone ground on his nerves. He fished it out of his pocket and growled into the receiver:

"Moran."

A peppy female voice chirped back.

"Hello, Colonel Moran. This is Lisa Evans. I'm calling to confirm that you received your package yesterday afternoon."

"...yeah. I got your package," Moran answered warily. He wondered if this was someone calling for his supposed future employer, or simply just someone at the post making sure his mail was delivered properly.

"Excellent! Mr. Moriarty hopes you appreciated his gift," Yep, thought Moran, new wannabe employer, Mr. Self-important mob boss. The oh-so-cheery woman was still jabbering " - and would like to setup an appointment with you! I'll transfer you to his line now!"

"Hold on a sec, who the fu -" Moran's angry protest was cut off by an automated voice asking him to "please hold while your party is reached" and the first few minutes of "More Than A Woman." Moran gritted his teeth. There was a special place in Hell reserved for people with call-waiting music, particularly the Bee Gees, and Moran began imagining all the ways he could send this "Mr. Moriarty" straight there when the track abruptly stopped and was replaced by a lilting voice.

"Sebby! So good to finally chat! You're a difficult man to get a hold of, but that's fine. Daddy likes it when they play hard to get."

"Alright, I don't know who the fuck you think you are bu -

"Oh! Where are my manners! Jim Moriarty, darling. Charmed. Listen, stud, I'd love to talk but I have an empire to run, so I'll be brief. I've been watching you, and I like what I'm seeing. Your work is phenomenal and I think you'd be a real asset to our team. I'm just going to put you back on with my secretary and we'll arrange a day for you to come by the office for an interview. Sound good? Super! Ta!"

"Wai -" Moran was once again silenced, this time by Earth Wind and Fire's "Boogie Wonderland."

And that was how Sebastian Moran found himself entering the generic looking office building in central London a week later, several firearms and a few of his favorite knives hidden beneath his business casual attire, and staring bemusedly at the giant poster behind the receptionist's desk. The poster featured a big yellow smiley face that must've been a meter in diameter above the words "Have a nice day!" in bright yellow text.

As he looked around, Sebastian became more and more convinced that he was in the wrong place. The atmosphere of the office was decidedly upbeat. Employees sat on brightly covered swivel chairs and their cubicles were full little knick-knacks and inspirational posters. Tables stood every few feet and were covered with large vases containing elaborate flower arrangements.

"Gorgeous, aren't they?" Asked the receptionist. And Sebastian realized he'd been staring at an arrangement of lilies. "Mr. Moriarty does them himself, sometimes. Says it helps his creativity."

"Right. So, this is it? This is Moriarty's, er, office?" Sebastian asked, because he had been certain there had been some sort of mistake until she said "Moriarty."

"Yep! You must be Colonel Moran! Mr. Moriarty is in a meeting now, but he'll be with you shortly. You can grab a seat while you wait," she said with a smile, and pointed to a large seating area to his left.

Cautious now with the knowledge that he was, in fact, at Mr. Self-Important Mob Boss/ Flower arranger(?)'s "lair," Sebastian meandered over one of the plush waiting area chairs, taking note of any and all potential entry points and escape routes.

Sebastian sat for several minutes pretending to read a magazine and listening to the usual drone of office sounds: phones ringing, keyboards clacking, hushed conversations by the watercooler. Perhaps this place was just a front organization. Maybe these people were just ordinary nine-to-fivers, unaware that their boss was moonlighting as a criminal. Suddenly, a door down the hall banged open, and several men stepped out of a conference room. A short man in an expensive suit flanked by a broad shouldered man and a petite but powerful looking woman, was smiling sympathetically and nodding as a tall man (Russian, Sebastian noted as they approached) who was mumbling apologises and swearing "It will not happen again, Boss,."

"No Vlad, I know it won't. You've always done such great work for us, and everyone makes mistakes!" Moran instantly recognized voice of the man in the fancy suit as Moriarty, and stood up.

"Oh, thank you Boss! Thank you! I do good next time! Make you proud!"

"Of course you will! Zeenia, Dominic, please escort Vladimir back to his car," At his words, the short woman and the broad man moved to either side of Vladimir, and the trio began walking toward the entrance, Vladimir looking extremely relieved.

"Oh, and Vlady!" Moriarty called. Vladimir froze.

"...y-yes Boss?"

Moriarty's expression slowly morphed from sympathetic smile to maniacally delighted grin.

"Have a nice day!"

At his words, Vladimir visibly paled, and after a moment of stunned silence, let out a shriek Sebastian was all-too familiar with and began to sprint for the exit. Sebastian's hand reflexively wrapped around the gun in his pocket, and he had to force himself not to instinctively give chase to the man whose every movement was screaming to Sebastian Prey. Prey. Easy prey.

Zeenia and Dominic intercepted Vladimir just as he reached the doors, and dragged him into the elevator on the right, then disappeared behind its metal doors.

No one in the office had looked up once. Not just ordinary nine-to-fivers then.

"Sebby! Soooo good to meet you!"

Sebastian's head whipped around to see Jim Self Important Crime Boss Part TIme Flower Arranger Have-A-Nice-Day Moriarty smiling at him warmly. He threw an arm over Sebastian's shoulders like they were old mates running into each other unexpectedly.

Sebastian shook the arm off, but did not otherwise make any move to injure Moriarty. If Zeenia and Dominic were any indication, Moriarty was well protected, and any rash moments out here in the open in front of his "employees" would likely result in a bullet in Sebastian's skull.

"Look, I don't know what you're playing at, but I'm a freelancer. I don't take on permanent jobs. I'm nobody's bodyguard. And I don't take kindly to threats."

"Ah, ah, ah!Temper, temper. I thought you'd like your present! I picked it out myself!" At this, Moriarty face shifted into a petulant pout that, were Sebastian a different sort of man, he would have called adorable. "Please! Let me give you the grand tour and introduce you to some of our staff, give you a little peak at our organization, and then if you're still not interested we'll never contact you again. What do you say, Tiger," Moriarty asked, batting his lashes flirtatiously.

Moran glared. Moriarty's voice shifted up to a pitch that Moran was sure would make dogs scratch their own ears off.

"Plllleeeeeeeeeeaaaaasssssss -"

"For fuck's sake! Fine! Just shut the Hell up!" Sebastian exclaimed.

And that was how Sebastian met Susan from Import and Exports - "she's a doll! handles everything from heroine to hand grenades to human kidneys" - Christian from R&D - "he just invented shampoo that makes your head explode while you rinse it out, isn't that neat?! - Eric from accounting - "Eric the Embezzler! he's like a superhero!" - and about fifteen other "team leaders" of various departments that kept Moriarty's "company" running smoothly.

"So? What do you think? Not too bad, is it?" Moriarty asked as plopped down behind his desk in his private office.

Sebastian was...slightly impressed. This was far more elaborate than he had been expected. Moriarty hadn't been kidding when he said he was running an empire. According to Moriarty and his employees, their "business" connected to crime organizations all over the world. Still, Sebastian Moran was no one's dogsbody.

"You've got quite a nice operation going here. But I'm not looking for anything long-term."

Moriarty simply nodded.

"Thought you might say that. Follow me. There's one more thing I'd like to show you."

Sebastian followed Moriarty back to the main reception area and then down a staircase adjacent to the elevators that had consumed Vladimir about an hour ago, all the while making sure he had a firm grip on his gun. Moriarty either oblivious or didn't care that Sebastian had had his finger practically on the trigger since they'd first begun their little tour. Sebastian suspected it was the latter.

The men traveled down 9 flights and then Moriarty stopped at an unmarked door. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small silver key. He unlocked the door, and then stood aside, ushering Sebastian into the room. Sebastian shook his head.

"After you. I insist," he said with mock-courtesy.

Moriarty merely rolled his eyes and stepped in, flicking on the light switch. The fluorescent lights revealed a man, bound to a chair, with a bag over his head and a bloody bandage around his right hand a few feet from the entrance. To his right was an assortment of knives, prongs, needles, and whips, all artfully arranged on a table in a manner uncannily reminiscent of the flower pots upstairs. The room extended far to the right, and Sebastian noticed that it was laid out as a firing range. The left wall boasted one of the most lovely collections of guns and explosives that Sebastian had ever seen outside of a military base.

Sebastian had been unconsciously tracing a DSR-50 with his fingers when he heard Moriarty chuckle behind him.

"Thought you might like this place. Had it built specially for you, even had the ceilings redone. It's all part of your benefits package, if you choose to work here."

Moran looked up and noticed for the first time that the high-ceilinged space contained overhead perches that would enable him...or rather, someone who worked for Moriarty, to practice long range shots. He also noticed a tiger viciously snarling, looking ready to pounce, that was painted over nearly the entire ceiling.

"And don't forget my last little present - Ta-Da!" Moriarty cried, and like a magician pulling a rabbit from a hat, he whipped off the bag from the anonymous man's head.

Major General Alan Collins. The man who had ensured that Moran was booted out the army. The man whose hand Moran had received in the mail. Moran now noticed that bandages were wrapped not around a hand, but around a stump, where that hand had been. Major General Collins looked up at Moran with petrified eyes. Moran felt a sinister smile sweep across his face.

"Nothing like a bit of revenge torture to liven up the day!" Moriarty said with a gleeful clap of his hands. "So, what do you think Sebby? Can I expect to see you bright and early Monday morning? We can keep you on as a temp to start, and then, if you prove to be competent we'll hire you full-time in autumn. How's that sound?"

"Sounds good to me...Boss."

Moriarty practically squealed with delight and began bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"Wonderful! I'll have Lisa send you the file for your first commission. Oh, and I trust you understand that if you try to sell company secrets or work for one of our competitors, we'll be forced to terminate you" His tone was that of any manager welcoming a new staff member to a company, but Moran nonetheless understood the literal sense intended by the word "terminate."

"I've got to run, but you can get acquainted with your new office. Kiss, Kiss!" He shouted gaily and pecked each of Moran's cheeks before strolling towards the exit.

"Oh, and Major General Collins?"

The man slowly lifted his head and met Moriarty's gaze. Before closing the door Moriarty gave him a winning smile and a jaunty wave as he said:

"Have a nice day!"

Sebastian Moran's accompanying laugh echoed in the giant room almost as loudly as Major General Collins' desperate screams.


End file.
